


something my soul needs

by orphan_account



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Big feelings, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Unreliable Narrator, theyre dumb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 01:42:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20381611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: soulmate au where the name of your soulmate appears on your arm when u turn 16.shit goes down, theyre gay, ill add tags as i gotitle from "flesh and bone" by keaton henson





	something my soul needs

**Author's Note:**

> i was originally gonna post this fic as one long ass chapter but this intro chapter ended in a way where i didnt know what to do. probably going to do a second long ass chapter <3

3:27 PM

On a Wednesday

Philadelphia, PA

The soulmate thing was, as most things were with the Reynolds' twins, off-limits. A silent agreement had been made to never speak a goddamn word about whatever names should appear in black ink on each of their forearms on their 16th birthday. That was what Dennis had naïvely assumed, anyway; he hadn't taken into consideration the unfathomable nosiness of his twin sister, who was currently squawking at him to reveal his name-bearing arm to her. 

Dennis had first noticed the name starting to manifest on his left forearm upon waking up that day. The morning sun had been shining so brightly through his bedroom window that he had begun to fling his arm over his burning eyes, only to stop it midway to inspect the faint grey letters decorating his pale skin. The letters had been far too vague to properly decipher the whole name, but he could make out the letter 'R' as the first one. 

At breakfast, he had been able to make out 'Ro', which in itself didn't really make a difference.

"Come on, Dennis!," Dee whined, insistently tugging on his arm despite numerous protests. "I'll show you mine!" She was smiling wide, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

"Dee," Dennis said lightly. "Even if I gave a shit, which I do not, about which poor son-of-a-bitch was mistakenly assigned as your soulmate," — because clearly any God in their right mind wouldn't give an insufferable bitch like Dee any chance at love or happiness — "I would never show you who mine is. It's personal information."

Dee rolled her eyes. "Personal information," she repeated mockingly. "We’re twins. It's not that big of a deal, dickworm. Just tell me." 

In all honesty, Dennis didn't know what his arm read — he hadn't checked on the name in a few hours. Not because he was scared; the Golden God wasn't scared of shit, but because he honestly didn't care one bit. He didn't feel like he was really keen on the whole soulmate concept; who would want to spend their whole life with some chick leeching all of his money, whining about everything? It just wasn't a very appealing idea.

His thoughts were first interrupted by Dee yanking his arm toward herself to peer at it before he could stop her, and then by her bursting out laughing obnoxiously like some kind of large, half-aluminium bird. 

"What's so goddamn funny?" He snapped, pulling his arm back, although not before smacking Dee on the hand, to look at it and see for himself what his sister was cackling so incessantly at. He turned his arm over to look at the black ink that now had formed into a full and complete name on his forearm. His eyes widened as he mouthed out the name that apparently belonged to his soulmate, his destined life partner, the love of his life, Ronald fucking McDonald. 

"What the fuck!?" Dennis screamed, jumping up onto his feet. This had to be some kind of prank, he was not about to be in love with a goddamn fast-food clown, for Christ's sake. "Dee, did you do this? Is this supposed to be funny?"

Dee collected herself enough to muster out between red-faced snickers, "Dennis- how could I have possibly done that?" She burst out in another fit of laughter after glancing at the name a second time. "I'm afraid that's on the Gods or whoever's in charge of this shit." She took a deep breath before snorting loudly and whispering "Ronald McDonald." And then she was gone again, falling onto her back this time, the metal of her back brace clanging against furniture on her way down as she giggled. Dennis huffed and rolled his eyes. This was not funny at all. 

**

The following Tuesday found Dennis at school, sitting in English Lit or Algebra or something along those lines. Either way, he didn't care. He was preoccupied with incessantly glancing at his arm every two seconds; even though it was covered by the sleeve of his button-up, and it had been almost a week since it appeared there, he could feel the ink burning hot on his skin. Was that normal? Maybe it was exclusive to fast-food related soulmate tattoos. He rolled his eyes to himself at the thought. This was all Goddamn ridiculous.  
Obviously he wasn’t gay, and even if he was, there’s no way he’d go for someone named Ronald McDonald — if that someone even existed in the first place — so clearly this had to be some sort of cruel trick from the Gods, saying ‘Hey, hey asshole! Guess what? You’re so Goddamn unlovable you don’t even get a soulmate! You fucking moron!’ as if that was news. Dennis was well aware of those things already, on account of everyone screaming them at him during all parts of the day; everyone but his Mom of course, but constantly hearing his pill-drunk mother blabber on about how he was perfect and a ‘golden boy who could do no wrong’ wasn’t exactly better. So yeah, he knew, there was truly no need to rub it in. Fucking prick-ass Gods.

"Hey, man." Someone whispered behind him. It took Dennis a while to realize it was directed at him, and he turned around to glare. Whatever pissed-off response forming on his tongue was abruptly cut off by an eraser to the forehead.

"What the fuck?" Dennis insisted. 

"Oh shit, sorry." The eraser-throwing asshole said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "It was s’posed to hit your back but you turned around!" 

Why on Earth this random kid felt the need to fling erasers at the backs of strangers was beyond Dennis's understanding, but he let it slide; the kid seemed sorry enough already, and Dennis was tired.

"Okay…" Dennis hesitated, taking a good look at the kid for the first time. He was obviously from a much lower social status than Dennis; his clothes were dirty with patches that had clearly been sewn back together more than once. He was wearing an old hoodie — a strange choice for mid-August — that had probably had some kind of tacky slogan on it a decade-or-so ago, but was now plain black with a few faded flecks of color around the middle. He had dark brown hair and eyes to match. "Did you have something to say to me?" 

The dude was staring. His cheeks had gone a pale shade of rose, and his eyes were peering into Dennis. 

"Oh! Yeah," He blurted out a bit too loud, considering they were in class. "You're Dennis right? Reynolds?" He stammered through the words and was fidgeting absently with his left hoodie sleeve, clearly nervous, maybe even a bit scared. Of what, Dennis didn't know. 

Dennis raised an eyebrow. "...Yeah, I am. Why?” he asked.

The kid’s face flushed a deeper shade of red as he opened and closed his mouth repeatedly like a goldfish at PetCo, and tried to muster out some answer or another. 

“No reason.” He whispered quickly and breathlessly, gaze shifting away from Dennis and back to the whiteboard, which was completely filled with notes that they probably should’ve been taking.

Dennis nodded slightly, brow still furrowed. He flipped back around to try and focus on the lesson but it had long since turned to gibberish.

And that was it. He didn’t talk to the kid again for quite some time; he had honestly forgotten entirely about the strange encounter, until he saw the guy in question again a couple weeks later, smoking alone behind the bleachers that surrounded the school football field like a protective wall in some great ancient city. Dennis figured he could probably use something to ease the stress of, well, you know, so he strode over to the spot in the grass that the kid had apparently claimed as his own with papers and random trash scattered around it. 

It took a few awkward moments of just standing there, looming over the kid as he stared into space for Dennis to realize that this dude was far too stoned to acknowledge his presence without some kind of assistance, so he cleared his throat pointedly and quickly nudged the other’s foot with his own. The kid looked up slowly, expression completely blank until some form of recognition bloomed on his face, making him clear his throat and shift awkwardly where he was sitting in order to make room for Dennis. He patted the ground with his hand. Dennis obliged to the offered space and slumped down wordlessly next to him.

“Hey,” Dennis offered. 

“Hi.” 

“Can I take a hit of that?” He asked, gesturing loosely toward the joint the guy was holding.

The kid turned his head to look at Dennis, bewildered as if he had just been asked to surrender his greatest treasure.

“No,” he said quickly. “but I could roll you your own if you wanna actually get high and not just mooch a few hits off of my scraps.” He said, giving a small shrug.

“Yeah, totally,” Dennis replied. “How much?” He asked, already rummaging through his pockets for any spare cash that Dee hadn’t already snatched.

“Nah dude, free trial for first time customers.” The kid waved his hand dismissively while making a face. “That’s how we get ‘em hooked.”

Dennis snorted. “Y’know, you probably shouldn’t reveal that tactic to potential customers right off the bat, just saying.”

“Whatever bro.”

The kid began rolling a joint mechanically. Dennis watched him silently. Once he was done, he offered it to Dennis with a smile.

“Thanks,” Dennis said quickly snathing the joint in between his fingers, before continuing, “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Why do you wanna know?” God, this dude was weird.

“Well, seeing as you apparently know mine, it just seems fair to even out the score, so to speak.” Dennis said matter-of-factly, gesturing with his hands.

“Touché.”

“So? What is it?” Dennis pried.

“Mac.” 

“Just Mac? No last name or nothin’?” Dennis asked, putting the joint between his teeth, determined to find out who this dude really was.

“Nope. None.” Mac said bluntly, clearly wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible.

“That seems highly unlikely, Mac.” Dennis replied, putting emphasis on the other’s name.

“Can you just fucking drop it? Why do you even care?” Mac snapped.

Why did he care? “I don’t care.” Dennis rushed out. He took the joint out of his mouth. “You’re right. You don’t gotta tell me. I’m good with just Mac.” He forced a laugh. Mac gave a small smile.

“Oh, shit, dude. Can I borrow your lighter?” Dennis asked, he had forgotten his own in the pocket of his other pair of jeans.

“Dude, you came over to buy weed and didn’t even bring a light?” Mac asked with a laugh.

Dennis rolled his eyes. “If you recall,” he said slowly, “I didn’t come here to buy shit. You tricked me into taking your ‘free sample’ or whatever you called it.”

“Whatever. Here you go.” Mac held his zippo out, flicking it open as he huffed with mock-annoyance.

Dennis reached out for it and grabbed the lighter from Mac’s hand. He felt a spark of electricity when their fingers brushed; his cheeks flushed, he ignored it.

Dennis sparked the joint and took a deep hit, letting it fill his lungs and allow calmness to rush through his body like a drop of ink spreading out in a puddle of water.

They smoked in silence until both of their joints were burnt to mere roaches. Every now and then they’d glance at each other and trade quick smiles. 

They made a habit out of it, to skip class at least once every few days and smoke while sitting behind the same bleachers every time, talking about nothing. Mac’s friend Charlie started joining them at some point. He was alright, maybe a little weird. Okay, really weird — Dennis could’ve sworn to have witnessed him eating spiders once. They were content like this, in the confines of their own little gang, safe from the rest of the world. 

One time in early September, the conversation had drifted from movie fight scenes — Mac swore he could have choreographed Karate Kid better — to hot chicks, and then, naturally, to soulmates. 

“I’m perfectly happy to show you mine!” Charlie announced, waving his arm in Mac’s face frantically. Charlie had turned sixteen the previous day. “Why can’t you tell me yours now? I’m your best friend, man!” he whined. “We had a deal that once we both got ‘em, we would tell each other!”

Dennis scoffed. Of course Charlie would be happy to show his - the kid couldn’t even understand what the writing on his arm said. 

Mac was looking very uncomfortable at this point, blush beginning to form on his cheeks. Dennis thought he might know why. He had had his suspicions about Mac since the beginning; from the way his wandering gaze sometimes lingered for a few beats too long in the locker room, how he couldn’t keep a girlfriend to save his life, and of course the fact that he refused to show anyone his soulmate’s name, despite claiming adamantly that it was a very hot chick. Dennis was fine with it, of course; to each his own. He couldn’t say the same for Mac, though; judging by the amount of f-slurs and impromptu sermons he threw around, he hadn’t exactly come to terms with it just yet. 

“Yeah, Mac,” Dennis teased. “What’s the big deal?” He hesitated for a while before deciding to take it a little further, see how far he could push Mac. “It’s not a dude, is it?” He asked in his best overly curious voice. Apparently that was the final step over the invisible line. Mac jumped up and started yelling, distraught.

“What!? No! It- I’m not- Of course it isn’t!” His half-sentences were sounding more and more frantic.

Dennis laughed. That was easy.

“Stop fucking laughing, dude! It’s not funny! Why would you even say that, you know I’m not gay!” Mac was fully red in the face, Dennis figured it was a 50-50 split between embarrassment and anger.

“Yeah whatever, bro. It was a joke, calm down.” Dennis was still smiling lightly despite the seriousness in Mac’s voice. The air was tense.

Charlie was quietly watching all of this play out from the sidelines, sitting a few feet away from them, eyes wide like he didn’t know what was going to happen next. He shifted uncomfortably and spoke, his high-pitched voice slashing through the silence like a bullet in jelly.

“So! Uh… I’m gonna get to class ‘cause this girl I kinda like is in the same bio course as me and I really wanna sit with her.” He said, making a face and shrugging while gesturing around aimlessly, clearly desperate to remove himself from the situation.

“Yeah, buddy. You go do that.” Mac said quietly, the color in his face had calmed a bit so that he no longer resembled a beet but his forehead was still creased and his breaths were coming out like huffs. 

Charlie slinked away and eventually disappeared behind some trees by the schoolyard. Dennis sighed and turned to Mac.

“Hey man, I’m sorry,” He began, clapping Mac on the back and trying to plaster on his most apologetic voice. “I didn’t mean it.” 

“I’m not gay.” Mac’s voice was wavering yet determined, this time not sounding angry but scared, sad even. “I’m not a sinner, I’m not.” It sounded more directed at Mac himself or maybe even God, than it did at Dennis.

“I know you’re not, buddy.” Dennis replied anyway. “It’s okay.” He moved his arm to wrap around Mac’s shoulder instead and squeezed against his side briefly. Mac smiled, looking down, and deep down Dennis knew that the inevitable storm was only being delayed temporarily and weakly - fans pointed at a hurricane. But the ground was still dry and the sky was clear for now. And that was good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading! leave a comment or kudos if u liked it :)
> 
> see me on tumblr at veganglenn (idk how to link things lmao)


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